


Merciless Angel

by Tofeycat



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Bookshop Owner Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Detective Inspector Crowley, Fluff, Hurt Crowley, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, aziraphale and crowley are married, forensic scientist anathema, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24222493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tofeycat/pseuds/Tofeycat
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are a happy, married couple. Crowley works as the Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard, but when he is tasked with solving the homicide of Lucifer Morningstar, his ex, things soon take a turn for the worst. As more and more bodies pile up, he quickly realizes that this wasn't some random murder and that his husband isn't as angelic as he would like to think.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my friend (on archive) J_Anthony for beta reading this chapter.

The sun streamed through the blinds, warming the face of Anthony J. Crowley, stirring him from his sleep. There were two of them in the bed, one of them was lying down, wrapped in the cream-colored blankets, and the other was sitting up, about to get out of the soft bed. There was a bookshelf that rested against the wall and a dresser across from them. A small bedside table sat on Crowley’s side of the bed. It was sometime in the morning and he rolled over, reaching out for the other person in the bed.

“Come on love, wake up,” his husband, Aziraphale, said, nudging him in an attempt to wake him. Crowley looked up and saw how the light reflected off of Aziraphale’s hair, creating something that resembled a halo in his sleep-addled brain.

“Hmmm… angel… Ten more minutes,” he protested, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s soft, warm stomach and meeting his gaze, staring into his blue eyes. 

Aziraphale let out a small sigh, bending down to kiss his husband’s head before ruffling his red hair. “Darling, you need to get up, you have work,” he said. 

Crowley groaned. “Can’t I call in sick?” he argued, albeit halfheartedly. He really _didn’t_ feel like interacting with his dumbass coworkers Hastur and Ligur. 

“Dear boy, we both know that Beelzebub will kill you if you called in sick for the seventh time this month,” Aziraphale said, detaching himself from Crowley and so he could get up. Crowley looked up at him and _pouted_ , although, if you ever asked him about it, he would deny it. 

Crowley let out a defeated huff and rolled out of bed before walking to the closet, only stopping to kiss a smiling Aziraphale.

* * *

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” Crowley swore while he swerved in and out of traffic, already late. Once arriving at the police station in record time, he clamored out of his Bentley and ran into the building. He almost spilled coffee on himself as he dashed into the meeting room. Everyone looked over at him and his face reddened as he found his sear and sank into it. 

“Sorry,” he said. 

Beelzebub sighed. “Now that everyone is here, forensics has concluded that the cause of death for Mr. Morningstar was strangulation and the cuts on his back were fresh and happened right before death. They also found Rohypnol in his blood. There was bruising on his arms and legs from the rope we found on him. They also found a white feather tied to his wrist,” Beelzebub said as Hastur and Ligur started to speak up. 

Crowley flinched at his name. He himself had quite the history with Lucifer, or as Beelzebub put him, Mr. Morningstar. The two had dated when Crowley was fresh out of high school; young, naive, and working a minimum wage job when he had stumbled into the arms of Lucifer. All charm and charisma, he had singled out Crowley at a gay bar and preyed on his insecurities. Throughout their so-called relationship, Lucifer was keen to remind Crowley that he was nothing without him. 

It was only until after he finished college that he realized the toxic nature of their relationship, and even then, he still stayed with him. He didn’t stay for months after, no, he stayed for years. Three years, to be exact. The relationship tore him apart, isolating him from his friends and family. Although admittedly, his family treated him like absolute shit, that was beside the point. The point was that Lucifer tore him apart inside until he couldn’t take it anymore- 

“Crowley, your thoughts?” Beelzebub asked, snapping him out of his daze. 

Crowley looked up, confused. 

They sighed. “I said, what are your thoughts about this?” they repeated. 

“My thoughts on what?” he asked. 

“Were you not paying attention?” Beelzebub asked in an accusing tone. 

“No…” Crowley admitted. 

There was a silence where the only thing able to be heard was an exasperated sigh. Beelzebub opened their mouth to say something but was cut off by the phone’s ringtone. They fished their mobile out of their pocket and after a short exchange with the person on the other end, they hung up and put their mobile back in their pocket. “There’s another one.”

* * *

The apartment was lavish, expensive, and all white. The furniture had a sleek, modern look with leather couches and marble countertops. The rooms had that pristine, unlived in cleanliness that only came from a place not being lived in. As soon as Crowley walked in, he could tell that the people who owned the place were important and had deep pockets. Crowley noticed with disgust how Hastur and Ligur were thoroughly searching all the wrong places to be looking at for a homicide investigation, but the places that were most likely to have cash. This included trying to access the contents of a safe located inside a cupboard. So far, they have tried the wrong combination two times. 

“This way, over here,” one of the officers, Newt exclaimed, leading them into the bedroom. 

He was fairly new and could be quite useless at times, but he was a nice kid and was good at looking through the case files. They entered the room and the first thing that Crowley noticed was a man and a woman suspended above the white bed in a praying position with their heads forced down into a submissive position. The golden rope keeping them in their position glowed, reflecting the sunlight coming in through the large window. They were both fully clothed in expensive, tailored suits that showed their wealth. The man had dark hair, gelled to one side, and a strong jaw. The woman had brown curls piled up on top of her head and an angular face. 

“The victims are Michael and Gabriel Archangel, aged 37 and 39. The two are well-known business owners and investors. Their combined net worth racks up an impressive twenty-five million pounds. This was one of the many properties that they owned,” Anathema, their forensic scientist, clarified. 

Crowley looked around. “What was the cause of death?” he asked. 

“Could be poison, I’m not sure but that seems to be the most likely cause, look over here,” she said, pointing to their necks. “Syringe marks. I’m gonna test their blood as soon as I can, but I’m thinking that the killer administered a poison of some sort. I’m thinking it’s probably something fairly common and it could be something homemade, such as a large dose of sleeping pills combined with alcohol injected into their bloodstreams.” She explained. 

Crowley cringed and circled the corpses, trying to get a better look at them. The two had a fairly clean reputation to the public and were outwardly generous with their money, so why would someone want to kill them? This definitely wasn’t a suicide and would have had to take a long time to stage this, the complexity of the knots used to suspend them proved that. It would have taken around three to four hours, he would guess. It could have been done by a necrophiliac. 

“When did they die?” he asked. 

“I would say they have been dead for around 12 hours, their maid found them and called this morning,” Anathema replied. So this placed the time of death at around 9:30 PM. 

“Huh, that means that…” he trailed off, examining Gabriel’s body. There wasn’t any blood staining the suit and his skin looked perfect. Almost too perfect. He pulled on latex gloves and rubbed a spot on his neck, wiping away the foundation to reveal dark bruises shaped like fingers. Looking over to Michael, he did the same, revealing identical marks. “Hey Ana, come here…” he said as she rushed over. 

There was a long silence as she seemed to be thinking before re-examining the bodies. “Hm… the cause of death might actually be asphyxiation. It would make more sense… maybe the killer could have administered a paralytic drug before killing them. I’m gonna test their blood as soon as I can, but I’m thinking that the killer administered a paralytic drug such as Succinylcholine, Doxacurium, or Rohypnol and then strangled them after doing… something... to them.” She explained. 

Crowley recoiled. “You think they were roofied?” 

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m also going to look for signs of sexual trauma, but so far, it doesn’t look like anything like that happened,” she said, rolling up Gabriel’s sleeves. 

A white feather fell out. Fuck. Crowley picked it up and examined it. That was not a good sign at all. 

“Hey Anathema, can I take his jacket off?” Crowley asked. 

She looked confused but nodded her head, giving him permission to do so. Crowley reached for the corpse and tried his best to get it off carefully. He needed to see his back. There it was, on his back, the answers to all of their questions. Crowley cursed under his breath. 

“There are wings,” he muttered, staring at the deep cuts, in the shape of angelic wings on Gabriel’s back. “Hey, Beelzebub, come here,” he yelled, getting their attention. 

“What? I swear Crowley if it is something useless...” they said, before seeing the wounds. There was a long silence, which was broken by Beelzebub. “Crowley, go see if the same thing is on Michael’s back,” they ordered. 

Crowley nodded and did so, removing the expensive fabric from her back to reveal another set of wings identical to Gabriel’s. 

“Well shit, I think we have a serial killer on our hands.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, sorry this is so late, I had my AP exams to study and get through. I will have a regular upload schedule now that it's summer. I'm thinking of updating every Saturday and sticking to it. If I decide to post an extra chapter that week, it would be on a Wednesday.

“Hey angel,” Crowley said into his mobile. He was standing outside of the office area he worked in. The weather was warm, a perfect day for a picnic, he thought.

“Hello, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said from the other end of the phone. Crowley could hear the smile in his voice, and if he concentrated enough, he could see him there, smiling in that way that lights up his eyes and created wrinkles around the ends of his eyes. "Are you safe?" he asked, more seriously this time.

"Yeah."

"Good."

“How’s the shop? Any new customers?” Crowley asked although he knew the answer was likely no.

“No, no new customers as of right now. When are you coming home tonight?" he asked, concern seeping into his voice. 

"About that… it’s gonna be another late night," Crowley admitted. He could hear Aziraphale sigh on the other end of the line.

"You really need to take a break; you've been almost working yourself to death as of late!"

"I will, I will… I promise, look, I'll get you some sushi on Saturday and I'll take the weekend off," he promised.

“... okay… what time are you getting home?" Aziraphale asked.

"I would say around 10:00," he answered. 

If Aziraphale had asked him to, Crowley would go home immediately. He would do anything for his husband. He would lie, cheat, steal, and kill for his angel. If asked, he would kill himself for his angel. But the thing was, he wouldn't ask him to. Aziraphale was a good person, a real-life angel who loved his husband as much as Crowley loved him. He was kind and gentle and sweet and everything Crowley needed in a partner.

He heard the distant ding of someone entering the shop. 

"Oh dear, it looks like someone's here… keep me updated on where you will be, ok?" 

"Yep."

"Bye, love."

"Bye, angel," he said before Aziraphale hung up. Crowley sighed, turned around, and walked into the building. 

* * *

Tally was going through the events for the 5th time that day. It’s been a week since Michael and Gabriel were found dead and it was all over the news. The faces of the two wealthy business owners were everywhere; on the front covers of magazines, on TV, and even on billboards. The media decided to honor their deaths by publicizing it; they took the statements made by the police and twisted their words in order to better fit the narrative they were trying to craft.

Crowley sighed, flipping through the photos of the two in the conditions in which they were found. If he wanted to he could close his eyes and imagine himself in the room. He could see the bodies bent over in a praying position, hovering over the bed. The blood absent from their bodies and from the bed. Everything was clean. Almost new.

Wait. 

Crowley frantically flipped through the photos and stopped at one of the two people. With a closer examination ticket seeds that defeat the new. The tag hadn’t been removed yet, leaving it peeking out in between the pillows. The music had been purchased for this exact scenario. The killer had been meticulous and had paid so much attention to detail, so why did he leave that here? It didn't make sense. He flipped through the shots of the bed; if only he could figure it out...

Crowley groaned and checked his watch. It was already 10:00 and he couldn’t seem to get one lead on the case... And even then, he didn't think it was significant.

With a sigh, he leaned back into his chair, carding a hand through his hair.

If only Aziraphale was here.

Aziraphale! When had he promised his angel he’d be home by?

He checked his texts.

Angel: Hello dear, just reminding you that you should be home by 10:00- A.Z. fell

He smiled as thought about his angel. He gathered up the case materials, attempting to organize them before giving up and shoving it into the folder. He could sort through it when he got home.

Home…

With his angel.

Angel who loves them into what does a is easy of pure fucking Sunshine. His Angel who was, no doubt, sipping a glass of wine and eating a slice of cake from the bakery across the street. In his daydream, Aziraphale sits across from him, calling Crowley's name. He misses his Angel. His smiling, Heavenly angel. His beautiful, soft, delightful, wonderful angel.

* * *

The overhead bell dinged as Crowley let himself into the shop. It was warm, like always, as he looked around for Aziraphale. He spotted him holding a book. "Crowley, you’re home!" he said, as he put the books down on the table. With a little bit of confusion, he noted that they were all by Jeffrey archer. 

"Hello, darling, new news on the case?" he asked hopefully. Crowley shook his head no, his mind conjuring up the grotesque images of the bodies they found.

Aziraphale raised his brow but said nothing. 

"Dear boy, come here, we need to talk."

Crowley’s heart was pounding. 

"About what?" he asked. Aziraphale handed him a glass of wine. 

"Remember the person who entered as we were hanging up?” he asked.

Crowley nodded.

"Well, they currently in the guest bedroom."

"What?”

"Yeah… their parents are disgusted by him coming out as non-binary. Well, I'll let him tell you the story tomorrow, “Aziraphale said. Crowley sighed.

The two of them were known as guardian angels for the LGBT youth with unsupportive families. If anyone was kicked out of their house because they came out, no matter what they were, they would be accepted by Crowley and Aziraphale. They would provide them with a place to stay, giving them a chance get their life together. The only thing they asked for in return was for them to spread the word. It was a perk of running a bookshop and living there, as Aziraphale had told Crowley many times.

"We get to do good Crowley, we get to help these kids live normal lives,” he explained the first time it happened. So far, this was the eighth kid. 

Crowley took a sip of his wine before looking up at the clock. "Oh, would you look at that, it's 11:00," he said, Aziraphale sighed. 

"I’m gonna go up to bed," He announced 

"Goodnight Crowley, I'll join you in a bit,” Aziraphale said, picking up a book. Crowley walked over and kissed Aziraphale before heading up the stairs to their room.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank my friend (on archive) J_Anthony and ZabbyPerno for betaing reading this chapter.


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